Let's Get Physical
by dreamsweetmydear
Summary: Sherlock teases Molly one morning. Two can play at that game. - A bit of post-Reichenbach Sherlolly fluff, involving martial arts and yoga. Told from Molly's POV.


**From the author's desk: **Hello! It's my first foray into _Sherlock_-fic, but I promise I'm not new to writing fanfic. I've been dabbling in it since I was fourteen—ten years now, I think! Anyway, I'm a massive Sherlolly shipper, so I thought I'd add a little fluff for them, since there just isn't enough Sherlolly, and there can never be too much!

The idea behind this sort of ran away with me, but hopefully you'll like it. I'm still getting used to these characters, so please feel free to make any constructive criticisms you'd like. I love feedback!

Happy reading!

**Beta/Brit-picked by: CumberChelz** (aka **Cum****berSeedyBatch** on Tumblr) - Many thanks to her! :)

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing. These characters are the property of Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss, and of course, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. This is just a bit of fun.

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_**Let's Get Physical  
by dreamsweetmydear**_

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Molly isn't sure what startles her from sleep, until she hears the sound again.

_Whipff! Whipff-Whipff!_

For a second, she's sure there is an intruder in her flat, bringing her foggy, sleep-addled mind to full alert.

Then she remembers that she has a temporary flatmate. (Not that she often forgets, considering who he is, how his brain works, and the way he looks.)

_Whipff-Whipff-Whipff!_

Molly turns to look at the small alarm clock on her night table. The time reads 5:30 AM in bright green digital font, causing Molly to groan inwardly.

She's only been asleep for three hours, thanks to a late-evening shift at the morgue.

As Molly closes her eyes to try and return to sleep, she hears the sound again.

_Whipff-Whipff! Whipff! Thud!_

Her curiosity piqued at the change in sounds, Molly slowly tiptoes out of bed.

What is Sherlock doing so early in the morning? Whatever it is sounds complicated, though Molly has to admit, it sounds rather interesting as well.

Opening her bedroom door as silently as possible, Molly peeks out into the hallway, looking around for the detective. At the end of it, she sees the lights in the sitting room are on, and observes his lean shadow moving across the wall.

She can still hear the noises, but the shadow is too vague to make out what it is he's doing.

Quietly she shuffles to the doorway leading into the sitting room, and stops, drinking in the breathtaking sight before her.

Her coffee table has been moved to the far wall near the balcony door, the armchair pushed in the opposite direction until it too is along the wall adjacent to where Molly is standing.

Sherlock Holmes is in her sitting room, dressed in a maroon button-down shirt and dark dress pants. However, his shirt is untucked, the cuffs unbuttoned, and Molly sees the black leather belt he usually wears around his waist lying on the sofa, his dress shoes and socks tucked neatly beneath it, leaving his feet bare on the carpeted floor.

She has caught him in a sideways lunge, his left leg outstretched to the side away from his body, his right leg bent forward at the knee. Before she can process what is happening before her, Sherlock shifts his position, his hands and arms moving in short, precise slicing motions that sound like something cracking through the air.

Molly continues to watch as he moves from position to position, a small part of her analytical mind recognizing that he is fighting against an invisible opponent. She pays little attention to this thought, too entranced by the rippling of his muscles beneath his clothes, the look of concentration on his face, the slight flush of his pale cheeks as perspiration beads his forehead. As he begins to pant lightly due to physical exertion, Molly's breathing quickens slightly and she becomes aware of her faster pulse and aroused and heated body.

She is so mesmerised by Sherlock's display that she doesn't realize she has stepped into the room until a loud _creak_ of the floorboard beneath the carpet breaks the spell. Molly freezes simultaneously as Sherlock pauses in his exercise, eyes opening halfway, crystal blue irises immediately locking on to her.

There's a mischievous twinkle in his eyes and his stoic mouth lifts in the tiniest of smirks as he crouches low into another sideways lunge, this time in the opposite direction. "Enjoying the show?" he drawls, before resting a hand on the floor and sweeping the outstretched leg into a kick forward, pushing his body forward and upright using the ball of his right foot, and then coming to a completely standing position.

Molly's face flushes pink with embarrassment, and she quickly shakes her head to clear it of its hormonal haze. "I—erm, sorry—that is—I didn't mean—"

She watches his mouth quirk into that little smirk again as he slowly makes his way to where she's standing. Molly stands frozen as he brushes past her, and she catches a tangy whiff of his musky scent.

"Excuse me," he murmurs quietly to her as he passes, and Molly's eyes lock once more with his playful gaze. "I'm in need of a shower."

And then he's gone from her sight with a _click_ of the bathroom door.

Deciding it's entirely too early to ride the emotional rollercoaster that is being in love with Sherlock Holmes, Molly returns to her room and crawls back into her comfy bed.

Maybe she'll wake up in a few minutes and this will all just be one wonderful, delicious dream, she decides. Only to dismiss the thought, as her heart is still racing a bit, and all she can imagine when she closes her eyes is Sherlock performing martial arts in her living room, all cat-like power and grace and sensuality.

It's only as she's finally starting to drift off to sleep again that she realises he was purposely winding her up.

And since it's Sherlock, the only reason Molly can think of that he'd put on such a display is because he wants something from her, or he's conducting an experiment.

From the look he was giving her, Molly is very hopefully inclined to believe it's the latter.

A shy, wicked smile crosses Molly's lips. If he's making a move, then she'll have to make a move of her own.

Though she's a little nervous about what she has come up with, she knows exactly what she's going to do.

XXX

She plans her answering move for an afternoon on one of her days off about a week after Sherlock's early morning display. In that time, Molly has rearranged the furniture in the sitting area so that the couch and armchair are angled towards the telly in the centre, providing a clear view of the space in front of the telly from the dining table.

It's an unspoken rule that the sitting room is to be a shared space, as the flat was Molly's first before Sherlock came to stay with her. She has every right to do as she pleases in her home, and he, being the guest, will simply have to deal with it.

The dining area is separated only by a stretch of beige carpet, and Molly has observed that Sherlock often sits there to work on her laptop, facing the sitting area as it gives him an unobstructed view of the doorway to the flat, as well as the rest of the room and the entrance to the kitchen.

She checks her appearance in her bedroom mirror once more before grabbing the rolled-up mat that rests by her door and her mp3 player and arm holster from the top of the bureau, and walking out to the sitting room.

As she was hoping, Sherlock is typing away on her laptop at the table, gaze intent on the screen.

Time to give him a taste of his own medicine. But first, she needs to snag his attention.

He had stuck with simple clothes, and so has she—a pale pink, spaghetti-strapped tank top, and a pair of black yoga pants. Feet left bare, but her long hair braided instead of tied in a pony tail.

Past experience with Sherlock has shown that he doesn't react much to changes in clothing, though he does notice them. So Molly hopes that making a little noise while setting up her exercise space will draw Sherlock's attention, so that he'll also notice the clothing change.

After that, she'll just wait and see what happens as she goes through her own routine.

The one thing she has to do is keep a cool head. No getting flustered, Molly old girl!

Placing her mat and mp3 player on the sofa after departing her bedroom, Molly pushes the coffee table across the carpet and back towards the balcony doors as Sherlock had done a week prior. As she listens, she notices the sound of furious typing slow down a bit, though it doesn't stop. Molly makes a point not to look over at him as she goes on to spread out her mat, and his typing resumes its normal speed.

After setting her yoga playlist to play on her mp3 player and strapping it to her upper arm, Molly slips the earbuds into her ears and steps on to her mat with a deep cleansing breath.

She pushes any thought of Sherlock from her mind for awhile, centering herself as she goes through her warm-up and beginning positions with her eyes closed and her breathing deep and calm.

Molly loves the way yoga makes her body feel—flexible and warm and beautiful. It has a fluidity that has always appealed to her, and as she feels her muscles stretch and flex beneath her skin, Molly can't help but smile.

Molly is halfway through her yoga routine and holding her body in the bridge position when she chances a peek at her (possible) audience.

She's delighted to see he is no longer focused on the computer, his eyes instead trained on her. It looks like he's observing her, or more specifically, the way her body is moving, watching the way her limbs and muscles bend and stretch as she moves from position to position.

Molly catches his eyes, and she gives him a little smile and an arched brow before she goes on with her exercise. That's the perk of being in love with a genius like Sherlock—she doesn't have to say anything for him to get the message. _Enjoying the show?_

She stands and faces the dining area, taking a deep breath before going into her series of five sun salutations. She bends down, touching the ground by her feet, relishing in the way her spine stretches and elongates, before pushing her right leg back and lowering her body into the lunge. She balances on the ball of her right foot, sweeping her arms skyward and arching her back. Bringing her arms back down, Molly pushes her body into the downward dog position, holding it there for a moment to enjoy the stretch, before lowering herself into the upward dog. After holding it there for a moment, Molly returns to the upward dog, before lunging again, this time with her right leg in front and balanced on the ball of her left foot, before returning to a standing stretch, and then upright.

Molly continues with this series of motions for a while, taking her time to enjoy the way her body moves and relishing in the flush it causes her due to the exertion. At some point her eyes slipped closed while doing her sun salutations, finding it easier to concentrate on the motions and the music in her ears that way.

It's when Molly is in the final lunge of her fifth salutation when she opens her eyes again, and sees Sherlock once more. He is still seated at the dining table, and he is still observing her, but Molly notes that his eyes are just a little wider, his irises a deeper shade of blue. She sees his Adam's apple bob in his throat as he swallows when he realises she's looking at him again.

Molly gives him another playful smile before finishing up her salutation. "Namaste," she murmurs aloud, bringing her hands into the prayer pose for a moment, before she sighs and takes her headphones out of her ears and her mp3 player off of her arm.

When she looks at Sherlock again, he's still staring at her, his gaze still heated.

She makes her way over to him, aware that her body is damp with perspiration, but choosing to ignore it for the moment.

"Are you okay?" she asks him, as she always does, but trying not to let her smile turn into a smirk.

He blinks rapidly at her, his gaze hazy, and his brow furrowed in consternation, as though trying to figure out what on earth just happened.

Molly has to admit that she loves this look on him. It's oddly endearing.

"Sherlock?" she prompts again.

She watches him swallow again, and open his mouth to answer, but no sound comes out of his mouth. Molly tries not to snicker as the great Sherlock Holmes makes the impression of a fish.

Still Molly has her answer, and she has given hers.

Perhaps it's best to retreat at this point and leave the ball in his court?

"All right, well, I'm going to shower," she tells him, and turns quickly, her braid whipping out behind her as she makes her way to the bathroom.

"See you in a few!" Molly calls to him before she slips inside with a _click_.

As she steps into the warm spray a few minutes later, a wide grin stretches across Molly's face.

That is quite a bit of fun. She can't wait for Sherlock's next move.

X

X

THE END.


End file.
